The Art of Sparing a Life
by BlackRoseDragonCK
Summary: Two-shot, post-Revengeance. Tick...tick...tick... The calming rhythm of time was driving him crazy. Every passing second of tranquility brought him closer and closer to the moment when it would happen...his greatest adventure yet. This was, in no way, an ordinary mission. John and Raiden story. Slight implied SunnyxGeorge. Revengeance SPOILERS.
1. Anticipation of Adventure

**I DO NOT OWN METAL GEAR**

**Hi there! First off, I want to say thank you to The Master Insaniac for helping me with John's design in this story :). I was stuck on that detail and really needed the input. This is a two-shot is post-Revengeance fic (many years post-revengeance). It's a John and Raiden story but I don't want to spoil it by telling you whose perspective the story is told in :). Anyways, please enjoy!**

**X**

Tick…tick…tick…tick…

Each second that his wristwatch clicked away seemed to increase the maddening normalcy about him. Of course, he knew that, in reality, each subtraction of excitement from his immediate surroundings served as an inverse function to the ever increasing threat.

Things were going to get hairy. Fast. If they were lucky, they could take care of the problem before this place was too severely disturbed.

Anticipating what was to come, his foot began tapping a restless, steady rhythm on the pavement. He wanted to go. Now. But…he couldn't rush things. To distract his agitated mind, he turned his eyes toward the bustling scenery.

This section of Denver showed no signs of the insane chaos that had ensued years before. The only evidence of it was a few structural variations to the former World Marshal building. Other than that, things were perfectly average. The afternoon sun beat down, making the skyscrapers glisten. People swarmed in and out of businesses, going about their daily routines. The streets were packed with bustling cars and chattering pedestrians. Hardly a single area was unoccupied by man or machine. While this was not a strange occurrence, there seemed to be more people than usual, probably because of spring break.

There were plenty of teenage faces scattered among the throng. To any onlookers, he was just another one, slouching lazily in the chair of an outdoor café. His restless fidgeting could easily be perceived as a spring breaker's insatiable desire to party. The manner in which his chestnut-colored eyes darted about could be nothing more than a traveler's interest in the vast city. He was just an everyday eighteen-year-old with longish ice-blonde hair, a sepia T-shirt over a long-sleeved white one, jeans, and sneakers. All was plain, right down to the mug of coffee he'd ordered.

But, he wasn't a typical kid. He did not have a mundane life or a run-of-the-mill family…and today certainly was not an average day. That was why acting natural was driving him to the very edge of sanity.

"John, if you look like you're about ready to go play in traffic or something."

It was his companion who had spoken, sitting in the chair across from him. John turned to regard her.

Sunny Gurlukovich was stirring her iced tea with a straw, her chocolate eyes sparkling playfully. She was a strikingly beautiful young woman with skin the color of a Russian winter and blonde hair that was just as pallid. She wore a pale yellow sweater, khaki pants, and a blue-violet flower barrette in her long locks.

With their similar coloring, the two teenagers looked like siblings. No one would have ever guessed that the girl was a super genius who had, time and time again, assisted the soldier father of the boy across from whom she sat.

John smirked. "Yeah," he responded to her comment. "Maybe caffeine wasn't such a great beverage choice."

She giggled. Taking a sip from her own drink, she commented, "Guess you'll just have to go blow off some of that nervous energy…"

Her eyes twinkled again. John understood the message. Slipping a hand into his pocket, he retrieved his Iphone. He pulled up a GPS tracking program that Sunny had developed for their covert mission. The screen displayed a map of the city. Moving at a steady pace through tunnels and back alleyways was a lone white dot. It was being pursued by a cluster of red dots. They were almost halfway to the glowing green rendezvous point.

"Soon…" John muttered, his brown eyes narrowing. "…but not quite yet."

He stowed away the phone. Silence ensued for several moments, during which time John absently surveyed the traffic. He slumped deeper into his chair, striving and failing to feel casual. While he was thus occupied, he did not notice Sunny studying his features.

Suddenly, she murmured, "You know…you look just like your dad did when he was younger."

John turned in surprise. He met those cheery, intelligent eyes which had grown soft and thoughtful. She giggled, adding, "Hal says you act a lot like he did too. During Big Shell, he was just as eager as you are…and his sense of justice was just as strong."

John felt his face grow hot. Hearing this gave him more pleasure than he could say. His father had always been a superhero to him. To be like the man was a dream come true. Of course, he wasn't about to get THAT mushy…

The youth grinned, recalling his mother once teasing his father about attracting so many admirers, including Emma Emmerich. "Heh, I certainly hope I look like him. Maybe I'll have an easier time getting a girlfriend."

Sunny rolled her eyes. It was clear by her knowing look, however, that she knew he was flattered.

Lacing his fingers behind his head, John regarded the girl. A devilish thought came into his mind. It was time to transfer a little embarrassment over to her.

"Speaking of girlfriends…" the teen began with an impish smirk. "…I sure hope George doesn't mind me having coffee with his. I definitely don't wanna get slugged by that metal arm…"

Sunny's face went from being the hue of a lily to that of a red rose. Her eyes opened wide. She nearly knocked over her tea as she whirled on him. "I'm not his girlfriend!" the computer genius vehemently denied.

John gave a cool smile. He swirled his coffee with a stirrer, arching his brows coyly. "Oh? Then what's up with the 'oh my God, he found me out' look?"

Taking a deep breath, Sunny forced herself to settle back down. She drummed her fingers on the table, saying, "That was a look of DENIAL, for your information. I'm a scientist, John. I don't appreciate it when people give out false information and I feel obligated to correct them."

Yet her face was still as red as a tomato. She wouldn't look at him as she spoke. John chuckled, knowing that he was enjoying this a little TOO much. It was just not every day that he got a good, friendly jibe in at the brilliant Sunny Gurlukovich.

The fair-haired boy was silent for a few moments as he pondered their Guyanese friend. George was a partial cyborg who had been found many years ago during the World Marshall incident. Once an orphan living on the streets, George was befriended by John's father, who had later been forced to attack him in order to save numerous captive children. The attack had resulted in George attaining a glistening cybernetic arm and shoulder blade. More often than not, he wore the artificial limb like a silver medal. Not once had he resented his "ninja brother" for the obligatory assault.

"In all seriousness, though…" John murmured out of his own thoughts. "…George is a good guy. You don't often find people who are that loyal."

At this, Sunny smiled. "True," she said softly.

Her eyes averted and softened with the words. Almost unconsciously, she fingered a pendant hanging from her neck. It looked homemade with some sort of gear charm attached to a chain. John wondered if George had given it to her.

Before he could ask, an insistent beeping sounded from his pocket. It was the tracking program. Whipping out his phone, John studied the map. The white dot and its followers were about two-thirds of the way to the checkpoint.

Excitement surged through the youth like a jolt of electricity. He was on his feet in a matter of seconds. The time he was waiting for was almost there.

John retrieved the black and yellow backpack that had lain at his feet. It contained everything he would need for the operation. Stuffing his phone back in his pocket, he slung the pack over his shoulder. Sunlight dazzled his suddenly intense eyes.

""I'd better start jogging."

Sunny looked at him calmly, as if he really were merely going for a run. "How much time should I give you?"

"Mm…" John chewed his lip. "Fifteen, twenty minutes….Still gotta wait for the other runners, after all."

He gave a wink, slapping some cash down on the table. "For my coffee, plus a little extra. Get yourself another iced tea while you wait."

"All right," Sunny returned his wink, smiling. "Good luck."

John grinned back. He gave a quick salute. Then, he turned, and was gone down the street.

XXX

Truly, Sunny could not have picked a better rendezvous point. Desolate, isolated, devoid of people…it seemed made for the job.

Leaning casually against a massive metal crate, John flicked his eyes up from his GPS to scan the place. It was a barren, dusty site inhabited by a few warehouses. Numerous crates and rusting pieces of machinery were scattered here and there. Located in a less savory sector of the city, the area almost seemed abandoned. If not, it was seldom used.

"Good…" he thought, smirking slightly. "...less chance of collateral damage."

All was eerily silent. The only sounds John noticed were the ticking of his watch, the subtle whirring of the wind, and the distant sound of traffic in the city center. That was another good thing. There would be less to distract him from using his senses—taste, smell, touch, sound—just as his father had taught him.

The teen kept his gaze focused on his map while listening to the world around him. Having already crossed the outer edge of the perimeter, the glowing dots were getting closer and closer. Any second, they would be here.

Nodding in satisfaction, John exited the map screen and placed his phone in his backpack. He didn't want it getting broken in the inevitable scuffle. He set his backpack against the ninety-degree crevice created by two crates that had been unevenly stuck together. Then, he reached inside the bag. He removed his weapon.

It was a metal stave-like device that was divided into sections. His father had convinced Herr Doktor to develop it for John's personal use. The sections could collapse inward, shrinking the thing down to compact size for storage. When in use, however, the weapon remained perfectly stiff. Law-enforcement cyborgs often used the model as a non-lethal way to deal with troublemakers. According to John's father, they hurt like the devil when they struck a person. However, it would take a considerable effort to make them kill one.

That was exactly what John wanted. Neither he nor his family desired him to have the weight of taking a person's life on his conscience. Whenever possible, he would avoid killing.

His father had once held him by the shoulders, looking seriously into his young brown eyes with his own insipid blue ones. Quoting the legendary Solid Snake, he had said, "We don't carry guns to take people down."

John hadn't quite understood then at his young age. He had always thought that the hero defeating the villain was all that mattered. But now, after everything that had occurred over the years, it made sense. Nothing in reality was quite so black and white. In some situations, there were neither heroes nor villains. Sometimes, that fine line that divided right and wrong was scarcely visible.

John knew better now. While there were still countless situations in which he swore he knew which side was righteous and which was sordid, he knew that simply killing his opponents wasn't the answer. Terminating his enemies would have been the easy route. More often then not, the easy route was not the correct one.

Just then, a shuffling sound broke the icy shell of silence. Shaken from his thoughts, the youth flicked his eyes upward. His jaw clenched. His fingers tightened around the metal baton. Crouching down, John retained his balance with his knuckles pressed against the earth. He stayed close to the crevice created by the crates, not wanting to be a sitting duck in case his adversaries possessed firearms.

John waited. His heart pounded against his sternum. He forced himself to breathe normally. Fixing his eyes upon a thick grouping of decrepit machinery several yards away, John could swear that he saw something moving on its other side…something black and fleeting.

The young man focused all of his attention on that one spot. At first, there was nothing. Then, something—a dark form, humanoid, progressing rapidly through the junk.

In spite of his desire to be serious, John felt a grin tugging at his lips. Adrenaline was pumping generously through his veins. Deciding that his enemies would have already seen and shot at him if they had guns, he stood upright. His eyes burned with exhilaration as the figure slowed its pace. Only a single layer of twisted metal separated them.

"It's show time," John announced loud enough for the person to hear.

He was about to extend his baton…when the figure chuckled. It was a familiar, warm sound. It belonged to a voice that, when provoked, could be as cold as an iceberg.

"Almost," said a man's voice. "…but not right this second. Be patient, Johnny."

John gasped, nearly dropping his weapon. Then, he wanted to smack himself. Of course…in his eagerness, he'd forgotten about the snow-colored dot on his map. It had been a significant distance ahead of the scarlet dots. Now, the person whom it represented stood before him, lips curling in the smirk that John's lips had dexterously learned to imitate.

John gave a cool smile in an attempt to retain his dignity. "I've been expecting you," he half-retorted, half-lied.

His father, Raiden, smiled. Donning the civilian model of his cyborg body, he looked very much like other men. Only upon invasive inspection could people notice the faint lines dividing the organic and artificial skin on his face. Even so, his natural appearance had always been unique. A few additional harsh lines had come onto his face with age, but cybernetic enhancements had, as a side effect, kept him looking much as he had years before. His eyes, one of which was mechanical, were still the same arresting blue. A shock of white-blonde hair the exact shade of John's hung in a shaggy style just above his broad shoulders. His skin, real and not, was almost so colorless as to be sickly.

Enhancing that paleness was the soldier's clothing. He was clad in the same high-collared glistening black trench coat he had worn during Liquid's insurrection. Ebony gloves covered his hands and a long sheathe of the same color was strapped to his back. His trademark katana no doubt lay within it. That blade was still as sharp and silver as it had been years before. Its wielder still brandished it with staggering agility.

Moving to stand beside his son, Raiden clapped a hand on his shoulder. He gave a teasing smirk. "Expecting me, huh? Is that why you were about to knock the crap out of me with that baton?"

John felt his face grow hot. "R-reflex!" he shot back. The stutter in his voice destroyed the veracity of his statement.

Raiden said nothing, however. He merely chuckled, shook his head, and squeezed his boy's shoulder. Then, he turned his gaze to the place from whence he had just come. His azure eyes grew suddenly serious.

"They are coming."

John followed his gaze. He could see nothing but dirt, metal, and rundown machinations in the distance. His eyes narrowed. "How many?" he inquired.

"Four," responded the cyborg. "They were together when I last saw them…but I could hear them talking about using a 'divide and conquer' tactic once we arrived at the junkyard."

John raised his brows. "You heard them? I thought you were a pretty good distance apart…"

Raiden gave him a sideways glance. A look of slyness passed over his pale features. "Hearing enhancements," he explained, tapping the side of his head with a gloved finger. "Courtesy of Herr Doktor."

"Ah…" the youth grinned. "…bet those other guys are cursing whoever did their transformation surgeries right about now."

Raiden on the other hand, shook his head gravely. "Their cyborg forms may not be as strong as mine, but they are still dangerous." He turned to look at his son. His expression was a mixture of seriousness and concern. "Remember that, John. Don't let your guard down."

Fresh blood rushed to John's face. He cleared his throat and shoved his hands in his pockets, feeling a bit cowed. He knew his father was right. These guys might not possess the awe-inspiring might that Raiden did…but they were still deadly. Still, the correction stung his pride a bit.

"What kind of weapons do they have?" John inquired, changing the subject.

"Short blades. They're small but sharp, especially with CNT muscle fiber serving as the driving force behind them."

John was silent for several moments, peering at the man's face. Though he kept his expression neutral, Raiden was worried. John could see the shadows of concern creeping into his eyes. He nonchalantly socked his father in the arm.

"Relax, Dad. We'll be fine. After all, we ARE the dream team."

An echo of the youth's smirk surfaced on Raiden's features. "With that, I agree."

Something clanked. The two males simultaneously tensed. Raiden's cybernetic eye glowed red as he scanned their surroundings. No doubt, he was using his body's AR function. John envied that ability; for he was inclined to rely on very average, very human eyes.

John found himself wishing that he too had enhancements… for he knew well that the ones they were going up against would be far greater than human.

**X**

**I wanted to put the story parameters with John as the main character but he is not on the FF character list. Oh, the cover of this story is a pic I drew of teenage John in case anyone was wondering :). I will post the next chapter as soon as I get some reviews (it is already done). Anyways, I hope you liked and please review :D! Please no flames.**

**I DO NOT OWN METAL GEAR**


	2. The Tale's True Hero

**I DO NOT OWN METAL GEAR**

**Thanks so much to LeleB123 for reviewing and to anyone else who read :D! Here's the second and final chapter. I hope you enjoy ;)!**

**XXX**

John had no clue where to look first. There was so much metal around. The clanking noise could have come from anywhere.

He growled. "Where are they?"

Raiden did not answer. Slowly reaching over his shoulder, he grasped his sword's hilt. The next few seconds John could later only describe as seeming to happen in slow motion.

He glimpsed a shadow cast upon the ground, one that belonged to neither him nor his father. Then, he sensed the presence lurking atop the crate behind them. A slight gust of air signaled that the entity had leapt. Alarmed, the youth whipped around. His assailant was descending through the air toward him, a wickedly glinting blade held forth. John stumbled backward. In the milliseconds he had to think, he realized that he had moved far back enough to avoid getting sliced in half. However, he was still going to sustain a nasty gash. He just couldn't get completely out of the path of the weapon fast enough.

He cringed. As expected, a flash of metal appeared before John's eyes. Unexpected, on the other hand, was the lack of pain. John blinked in bewilderment. Then, he realized that the flash of silver…had been Raiden's blade. Its wielder had wrenched it from its sheathe and moved with staggering swiftness to block the enemy's attack.

The enemy landed on his feet, cursing as he locked swords with Raiden. Cybernetic muscles taut through his trench coat, Raiden backed his opponent against the crate. Sparks flew from their interlocked blades. With his opponent cornered, Raiden was able to seize his wrist and throw him. The unsuspecting man gave a startled yell.

Grunting, the attacker hit the wall of one of the warehouses several yards away before falling to the dirt. He groaned. Safe from harm, John was finally able to get a good look at him.

The man was a cyborg, as expected. His entire body, except for his face, was composed of crimson and black Desperado armor. A black visor hid his face from view. His metallic fingers clutched his short blade tightly. His rough voice mumbled half-coherent threats as he picked himself up off the ground.

John's fingers shifted agitatedly along his weapon's cool surface. It was clear that this guy was plenty dangerous. Moreover, there were three more just like him, lurking about the junkyard. "Divide and conquer" Raiden had said. That meant that they would be coming from different directions.

The teenager's earth-colored eyes rapidly scoured the area in search of any other hostiles. Meanwhile, Raiden dashed toward the foe at hand. Electricity sparked on his trail and danced along his blade. Recovering his bearings, the enemy took a lunging strike at Raiden. The soldier blocked. Their weapons tangled once again.

John watched discontentedly. His fingernails dug so hard into his palms that he was sure they would draw blood. He knew the plan they had discussed, but he was itching to do something.

Raiden's blue eyes burned like the white-hot core of a flame as he battled. There was a stalwart strength and fluid agility in his passionate movements. Such characteristics were typically belied by the stoic calm with which he often presented himself.

Out of the corner of his eye, John thought he saw movement. He paid it no heed. He was too focused on the impressive sight that was his father. The plan seemed like a distant fragment of memory. He wanted to fight alongside him…the cybernetic legend.

That one moment of distraction cost him. The boy stepped forward, intending to join in the battle. Only then did he see a second figure rushing at him. Gasping, John barely brought up his baton in time to block a second cyborg's blade. He was strong, looking exactly like his comrade. John's arm screamed in pain as it strained to keep back the attacker. He gave an audible grunt of painful stress. He hoped his father hadn't heard.

Raiden had. Eyes aglow with concern, he snapped his head toward his son. John's heart twisted with horror when he noted the soldier's distraction. The first cyborg took advantage of it. Separating from their sword-lock, he sliced with the short blade. It cut a sizeable gash in the arm of Raiden's trench coat. Judging by his grunt, it probably got some of the arm itself too.

With a shove and a backward scramble, the teenager managed to get away from his opponent. He studied his parent's wound in dismay, recalling all the times he had lost his arms altogether in combat.

"Man, not again…"

Fortunately, the wound was not too serious. Raiden continued fighting, his limb only a little weaker due to its injury. Sighing in relief, John turned his focus to parrying his opponent's attacks. He knew he would never forgive himself if his father were killed because of him. He resolved to maintain his concentration, no matter how enthralling it was to be fighting alongside his hero like this.

It was at the exact moment he made that decision that the other two hostiles appeared. One came crawling out of a row of concrete pipes while the other dove from the roof of the abandoned warehouse.

John watched worriedly. His foe had left him and joined the other two in their assault against Raiden. The roof cyborg joined their ranks. Raiden was now outnumbered three to one. Normally, that would not be a problem. But…this was not a standard mission.

One of the enemies tried to put the fair-haired warrior in a chokehold. Jerking his head back, he hit the man in his visor-shrouded face. The blow was enough to momentarily stun him. Utilizing this, Raiden seized his arm and shoved him forward. The man crashed into his two buddies. They all fell over like bowling pins.

John almost laughed. "Almost" because they regrouped far too quickly. With a fluid cooperation that could only be a result of nanomachines, the three hostiles banded together. They all rushed at Raiden in a human/cyborg battering ram tactic.

Raiden's eye flashed the color of blood. Seeing this, his son's heart skipped a beat. He was busy evading the fourth cyborg and could not assist…but he was aware enough to recognize that look on his father's face. It was his "revengeance" look…his "Jack the Ripper" demeanor.

In the past, such brutal determination had assisted him. But this was a completely different setting. He couldn't afford to let that old demon of his childhood resurface. John knew this and it sent ice shooting through his veins. Never before had he been scared of his father sinking to dark depths before. He was now. That look, that unwavering drive—it made John doubt the man's self-control.

Eye still glowing, the pale cyborg recoiled his katana in preparation to strike. His brows were furrowed, his mouth twisted in an unpleasant grin. John felt as though his heart had risen into his throat. He knocked his opponent in the side of the head with his baton, temporarily stunning the guy. Then, he turned to look upon his father.

Raiden's visage was focused intensely on his targets. He was beginning to sink back into his animalistic mindset of old. Even so…he seemed to feel his child's eyes upon him. Almost involuntarily, his head turned. His gaze locked with John's. Something in his expression froze.

Bronze and sapphire eyes locked for an interminable moment. The world around them seemed to slow down and fade to black. John felt as if his father were searching his soul, viewing all the warring emotions within him. Excitement, anger, fear: they were stripped bare beneath that piercing gaze. Then, the wicked glint in Raiden's eye faded. The primal fire in his gaze cooled. He turned back to his attackers.

Emitting battle cries, the enemy cyborgs were growing closer and closer. Rather than meeting them head-on, however, Raiden back-stepped several paces. Fingers tightly clutching his weapon's hilt, the soldier bided his time for several seconds. John held his breath. He paid only marginal attention to his own rival who was still shaking his head in order to clear out the baton-induced stars.

Raiden waited. The hostiles charged. John's pulse throbbed. Finally, the fair-haired warrior swung his blade. It whistled as it sliced through the air, a flash of silver against the granular land. It swept…and missed the approaching men by no more than three inches. They staggered backward, some of them yelping and others cursing. Clearly, they did not want to meet the weapon that had already retired so many other villains.

John breathed a sigh of relief. With his trust in his father's ability renewed, he turned back to his now recovered adversary. To any spectators, the display probably seemed rather backward. Rather than rooting for his father to tear the enemy apart, he was crossing his fingers in hope that he would not wound them. This was because they were not trying to dispatch the ones who had attacked them.

The teenager brought up his baton to guard as the cyborg struck out at him. He recalled the plan in his head. No. Their intention was not to destroy these men. It was to help them. These men were Desperado cyborgs, most of them more or less brain-washed into their current line of work. It was their aim to help them, to bring them to Boris's cyborg staffing firm for help. That was why John silently prayed that his father would not inadvertently kill any of them. It was also why Raiden had needed the boy's help. Killing four men would have been easy. Delaying them without causing any serious damage…that was tough.

The youth's attacker locked arms with him once more. John couldn't see through his ebony visor, making the man seem even more robotic. It was an effort to remember that all of these people were still human. They weren't battling AIs. These were living, breathing individuals, no matter what state of emotionless limbo their minds had been brought to.

Though he was more prepared for the onslaught this time, John still strained beneath the cyborg's mechanical strength. Veins stood out on his gangly arms and sweat broke out along his brow. A few stray strands of blonde hair fell before his eyes. He longed to clear them from his vision, but did not dare remove even one hand from the grip on his baton. The cyborg growled. The skull design on his Desperado armor glinted wickedly.

Right as John was certain his arms would give out, one of the others shouted, "Leave the kid! Get over here and help us with this one!"

The cyborg nodded. With a scathing insult and a ruthless knee to the gut, he sent John sprawling to the ground. Pain ricocheted throughout the teenager's abdomen. He groaned, rolling in the dirt and clutching at his stomach. He felt as though someone had just hit him with a baseball bat.

"Son of a…I can't even curse that hurt so bad…" he moaned.

Sounds of struggling caught his attention. Forcing back the stars clouding his vision, John struggled to sit up. He squinted through the pain to see what was happening. To his horror…he saw that his father was in quite a bind. Two of the hostiles were holding his arms while the third had him in a chokehold. The fourth cyborg was running toward him, blade raised and ready to strike.

"Dad!" the youth cried.

He scrambled to his feet, wishing that he could stop the attacking man but knowing that he wouldn't be able to catch him fast enough.

Raiden had his teeth bared, yet he did not seem to be struggling that much. Blue eyes narrowed, he flicked his gaze to his son. Their visages clashed…and a perfect moment of silent communication ensued. John saw a calmness in his father's eyes. It wasn't the resignation of a man defeated, but the confidence of one whose plan was running smoothly. The boy frowned in confusion. Raiden took a strained breath.

"John…" he called, his voice slightly raspy from the grip on his throat. "…Now…!"

Then it clicked. Pulse racing, John looked over his shoulder…and fixed his eyes on his backpack, still resting against the crates. That was it. Everything really WAS going according to plan.

Nearly tripping over his own legs, John ran to retrieve the pack. He wrenched it open. Rifling through its shadowy concave of fabric, he felt numerous items: pens, notepads, books, energy bars, empty wrappers, and his cell phone. He shot a look behind him. The cyborg was almost to his father. He had only moments. Cursing his failure to clean out the cursed thing, the youth felt around a bit more. Finally…his fingers ghosted over what he was seeking.

John's hands enclosed around the circular object and pulled it from the pack. It was an electromagnetic attack, or EA grenade, a specially designed device that interfered with the workings of cyborgs and UGs. This one had been given a little extra kick, thanks to Miss Sunny Gurlukovich. It was precisely what they needed.

Secret weapon in hand, John dashed toward the group of robotic men. The attacking one had halted before Raiden. He was raising his blade in preparation to execute the restrained soldier.

Raiden's eyes turned to his son. Feet skidding on the dirt, John stopped about four yards from the throng. He couldn't help grinning at his father's cleverness. Everything made sense now. Raiden purposely had them holding him hostage so that all of the hostiles would be together in one group. They only had one supercharged EA grenade after all; for the upgrades had been significantly pricey. To fail to hit all of them would be detrimental to the mission.

John pulled the pin and threw the grenade. Right before he turned to retreat, he caught the soldier's triumphant grin. Raiden then wrangled himself from the enemies' grasp. He leapt up and backward, landing on the roof of the rusty warehouse. John returned to his backpack. Both of them needed to be a safe distance away since the grenade could harm Raiden and the shockwaves from its explosion could affect John.

The grenade landed in the center of the crowding of enemies. All of them were still gawking in confusion, trying to decipher how their captive had escaped their clutches so quickly. When they finally sighted the object of their undoing, it was too late.

"Grenade!" One of them shouted…right as the thing exploded.

The grenade burst into a sizeable dome of fluorescent purple light. The cyborgs tried to shield themselves, but it was futile. Rivers of electricity swam across their vibrating forms. Moments later, the light faded and the men toppled to the ground.

All was abruptly still. The only sound was that of the wind blowing and distant traffic, just like before. Face hidden against his arm, John waited for several moments. He felt as though his heart had stopped. He was almost afraid to look up, dreading to find the enemies getting back to their feet.

A slight thud told him that his father had leapt down from the roof. He heard the snick of the katana sliding back into its sheathe. That gave him some confidence. Taking a deep breath, the youth lifted his head. His eyes fluttered open. Raiden was strolling among the men, casually nudging a few of them with his foot. They were all out cold.

A sigh of utter relief escaped John's lips. Slowly he got to his feet and made his shaky way over to the men. Raiden looked up at him. A smile formed on his face.

"Mission accomplished, son."

"Y-yeah," John tried to grin with confidence. The stutter gave away just how shell-shocked he was.

Laughing, Raiden squeezed the boy's shoulder. It was at that moment that they heard the sound of approaching tires. Both males turned. A long, plain white vain was approaching them, its tires filthy from the dust. Still on edge from the battle, John tensed. Raiden must have felt his apprehension because he gave his shoulder a reassuring pat.

"Looks like our pickup agents have arrived."

Then John remembered. The tension immediately left his thin form. Sunny had asked him before how long to give him. She had been referring to the amount of time she should give them to subdue the hostiles before she sent for the "delivery truck." Now it had arrived.

The van did a three-sixty in a debris-free area. It proceeded to drive backward so that the door on the rear of the vehicle was facing the unconscious men. The van was then switched off and the driver and passenger doors opened. Out of the passenger side stepped Sunny Gurlukovich, beaming widely.

"Hey guys!" she waved to the father and son. "Great work!"

John chuckled. Raiden grinned and saluted back to her. "Right on time, Miss Gurlukovich," he commented.

The girl giggled as she strolled over to them. "Well, of course. Didn't want to keep the two action heroes waiting."

She smiled at John. He felt his cheeks heat at being called an action hero. Raiden grinned at him and his embarrassment grew hotter. Clearing his throat, John started to say something. He halted when the driver's door opened.

From the car stepped a young man around Sunny's age. He had on dark jeans, a white undershirt, and a black jacket. Gloves of the same color covered both hands. His skin was the hue of light coffee, his eyes a deep obsidian. His unruly hair was as dark as his eyes, the bangs hanging slightly over them. In spite of his dusky features, his demeanor was as bright as the afternoon sun beating down upon them.

"George!" Raiden grinned and approached him.

George went to him, removing one of the gloves. Beneath it lay a hand not of flesh and blood, but of silver metal. His eyes sparkled cheerily as he clasped the elder cyborg's hand with his own robotic one.

"It's good to see ya, mi ninja brother." His voice was still heavily accented but his English had improved throughout the years.

Raiden clapped him on the shoulder. John then joined them with one hand raised. "Put 'er here, man!"

Laughing, George raised his organic hand. He high-fived the youth, saying, "Good to see you too, mi ninja brother's sidekick!"

"Sidekick?" John huffed, faking offense. "Who says I'm not in charge?"

"The fact that you're carrying around a metal stick instead of a badass sword," was the swarthy youth's simple reply.

Laughter ensued at this remark and Sunny placed her hands on her hips. "Well, boys? Let's not wait for them to wake up. Get a move on!"

"All riiiiight," George drawled out the word, as if what they had to do was a huge hassle. His eyes still gleamed playfully though.

Sunny opened up the back of the van. Within, John saw that all of the back seats had been removed. A sizeable storage space remained where they had once rested. Raiden and George set to work hauling the unconscious cyborgs over and into the van. Sunny went to stand beside John.

Glancing sideways at her, the teen inquired, "So Doktor will be able to fix them?"

"He should be," the young woman replied. "Whatever brainwashing was done to them…Herr Doktor should be able to flush it out."

She gave him a confident smile. John nodded quietly. Then, Sunny lightly punched him in the arm. "By the way, you did pretty good out there, hero."

John ran a hand over his messy hair, smirking. "Heh…I didn't do anything." After all, his father had done all of the real fighting.

Sunny studied him with those sparkling, intelligent eyes. "Don't be so sure," she said, smiling slyly. "George and I got here about five minutes ago. We watched the battle from a safe distance. From what I saw…I'd say you did a lot more than you think."

The teenager shot her a questioning look. She merely widened his sphinx-like smile, turning as George approached her.

The Guyanese youth gave a thumbs-up sign. "All ready, Sunny."

Slamming the door shut, Raiden approached the girl with a concerned look. "Are you sure those guys will stay unconscious until you get to your destination?" he asked.

Sunny nodded brightly. "Yup! With the damage to their circuits…it'll take quite some time for their internal systems to repair the damage. Plenty of time for us to get them to Doktor."

George slid his human arm around her shoulders, eyes sparkling mischievously. "Long enough to stop for early dinner? Just you and mi, nah?"

"I guess so…" Sunny's face contorted with confusion. She turned to look at him. "What're you…?"

It was then that she saw his expression and realized what he was implying. The computer genius's face turned redder than Raiden's cybernetic eye. Clearly, she was not one used to being asked out on a date. She babbled out frantic nothings while the boys laughed.

"A-anyway," Sunny said, fighting back her embarrassment. "We'd better get going."

She squeezed Raiden's hand and smiled sweetly at John. Both males smiled back. George high-fived both of them.

"Next time there's a fight, call mi!" he ordered playfully. "It'll be awesome to fight with mi two ninja bruddahs!"

"We'll let you know," Raiden chuckled.

"Don't forget it, nah!"

With that, the young cyborg and brilliant girl headed back to the van. Raiden clapped a hand on his son's back and John turned to face him. The soldier's white hair was a little messier than it had been. His pale skin was marred by a few splotches of dirt and he still had a rip in his coat sleeve. Nevertheless, his normally shadowed eyes were bright.

"Early dinner sounds good right about now. Wanna go find some? I'm not banned from Denver anymore so we should have no problem."

John smiled. "Sounds good. You might want to lose the sword though…banned or not, you could still freak people out."

Raiden glanced at the long, cylindrical sheathe on his back. He brushed it off, saying, "Ah, if anyone asks, we'll tell 'em it's the Declaration of Independence. Just like that guy in that movie…what's it called?"

"National Treasure. I'm pretty sure THAT would freak people out as well."

"Not as much as a sword," the soldier replied."

Laughing, the two began walking away from the junkyard. John brushed the dust from his clothes. He combed his fingers through his hair and rubbed at his face, trying to look like he had NOT just been in a fight with four cyborgs.

While his son was thus occupied, Raiden commented in a low voice, "…Sunny's right, you know."

"Hmm?" the boy looked at him, puzzled. "About what?"

The man gazed into his face. His expression was so many things…affection, sincerity, satisfaction. "About you doing a lot more in that battle than you think you did."

"You heard that?"

Raiden smirked, tapping his temple. "Enhanced hearing, remember?"

John cast his eyes downward. "But…it's true, what I said," he muttered. "I didn't do anything. Watching you…it was like an art how you kept those guys busy without seriously hurting them…the way you spared them."

He felt his father's eyes on him, studying him. "Well…if that's the case, I was only the paintbrush. YOU were the real artist."

John shot him a bewildered stare. Raiden smiled ruefully. "You saw how I was, kiddo. I almost cut loose when I shouldn't have. But then…I saw you. I didn't want to do something horrible in front of you…my son. You kept me from losing control. I couldn't have done this without you. YOU were the real hero."

The teenager gawked at him for a long moment. His face was on fire, his emotions a chaotic flurry. Raiden merely smiled and wrapped an arm around his shoulders, leading him onward.

"C'mon, Little John," he said. "Let's eat."

"Daaaaaaad," John complained at the old, childish nickname…but he could not hide his smile.

Finally, he had done it. After striving for so long, he had been able to help his father in a way that no one else could. He had measured up to his one and only hero. With his sincere words, Raiden had started his heart glowing inside.

_"Thanks, Dad."_

**XXX**

**Hopefully you've seen National Treasure, otherwise that joke probably made no sense XDDD. If not, the guy in National Treasure was carrying around the Declaration of Independence in a long tube-looking thing strapped to his back for most of the movie. I just thought that Raiden should make a reference to a movie since he's supposed to be a movie buff :P. I hope you enjoyed and please, please review :D!**

**I DO NOT OWN METAL GEAR**


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